It's time for...THERAPY

Talk about friggin' emotionally draining. Picture this. My Dad and I in the car, he's driving me to see Ron, who was my Mom/Dad's marriage counselour and our family therapist. Not that my brother ever came. Is Ari really a PART of this crazy family?

Anyway, I'm chatting away as usual about my plastics plan. When he goes "I know you said you didn't want to work for me, but in these economic times you have to for the family". So I responded "Congrats, you just found yourself in the first 10 minutes of my therapy". Make that 45. The usual back and forth. Ron is a GENIUS, and sees me as one too, which you could say I like. But he's able to get to my father in ways no one else ever can.

It comes down to "Do you want to risk the fantastic relationship you have with your daughter to have her do something she truly does not want to do on principle of mixing family and business to have her on the telephone for a venture that may not work out?"

The answer will be found out on Wednesday, Session 2. Jeez. My Dad says in the car that his feelings are hurt because of my unwillingness to help out the family. I finally twist it to say that, "You want me to work for family? Okay. I'll work for Mommy". To which he says, "Maybe you're better off there".

Since when does "working for Mommy" mean "living with Mommy" which was JUST established doesn't work?

Oh, and I have to take the bus. Fine. But that's more for his own "make her suffer en route", when we have a car I could EASILY drive. But more to come on that I'm sure. Eh, buses and walks don't bother me anymore. What's a 1-mile walk anymore, ya know? And buses? Ever been on the M86 at rush hour in Manhatttan? Can't get worse than THAT!

Came home, sad. See, that's how you know my relationship with my Dad has changed. I am no longer angry, but sad. Because I know how he works now. Ron says he's going to work on insulating me from my mother so that I don't get angry at her - aka, try and understand her a bit more. God, that man is an incredible therapist. And person, too.

He's known me since I was 16. He was a lecturer at a USY (i.e. Conservative Jewish Youth) convention I was at. He give lectures on The "Body, Torah, and Sex". Stuff like that. Awesome stuff, I think. I sat down at a table with him after the lecture and we just chatted. It just happened he was my Mom's therapist, but who knew until YEARS later.

So he tells me he's been quoting me for years. How so? He poses this question to the teenagers at the convention. "Is Oral Sex, "sex"?" The answer is usually "no" so he asks "why". After all, he explains, it's called "Oral SEX". Apparently, at the time, he didn't have an answer theorized, but I gave him is answer.

"Oral sex isn't sex because that way as girls we can have "sex" but still be virgins."

Shira @ 16. In a room of at least 300, I stood up and said that. I REALLY have no shame. And a bunch of Chutzpah too. I assume no one reading this blog is shocked at that. I have no memory of that, by the way.

Ron says that when I came in later with my family and he put that "Shira" and the sulky girl with her parents together as one person, he knew how brilliant I truly was and am. Darn my brain. Never shuts up. Ever.

I can't wait for these surgeries to be over, and I can start teaching, taking classes at either UCLA *yay*or Santa Monica College *shudders* and getting life started. Ah, school. I miss thee.

Oh, and a confusing thing I read in "Time". Apparently 43% of people would rather live where there are more McDonald's than Starbucks. Huh? But okay.

Bedtime now. Can't decided on "Ocean Noises", "Mozart for Meditation", or my all time favorite "Classical Sleep for Babies" I bought on iTunes. It's SO relaxing.

And I finally got ALL my Roger Cicero CD's. I love him. He's a German jazz/swing singer. Can't understand a word, and I just don't care.